Lying Dogs
by femalegamer
Summary: A light hearted post-game bachelor party fic. This is my gift for the swooping is bad Christmas exchange.
1. Chapter 1

Lying Dogs

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Alistair/FemCousland offstage

Description: Six months after the archdemon's death. Alistair and Elissa Cousland are to be wed. Two words: Bachelor Party. (Or: Stag Party or whatever your country's two words are.)

This is my entry for the swooping_is_bad Christmas exchange! :) Hope you enjoy it, Silver_scars!

* * *

"Alright, gentlemen, let's discuss our plan of attack. We have two locations that are under consideration, " Bann Teagan leaned earnestly over the map of Denerim city, frowning slightly. He slid two circle markers over buildings. "I think we can safely say that the Pearl is right out. I'd rather not have her-soon-to-be-majesty use my balls as curtain weights, so a brothel is out of the question."

"Hey, why are you in charge of this shindig, mister fancy nobleman? I thought we were doing fine when you showed up!" Oghren protested. He looked like a particularly hirsute child, engulfed by a plush human sized arm chair.

Teagan dubiously raised an eyebrow. "Really? I'm really not sure that a vat of ale large enough to swim in is really what Alistair is looking for in a stag night. Nor, " he added, frowning at the blond elf before he could add _his_ comments, "Naked mud wrestling. Particularly involving both genders. I really think that you need the touch of someone who has planned enjoyable outings that retain the dignity of the nobility. Ask Eamon about his party, if you wish."

His lips quirked as he remembered, adding, "Or, for that matter, Alistair. He was eight years old and apparently watched the dancing from the balcony with the stable-boy."

Oghren looked as if he had further protests, but instead he glanced over at the assassin draped over the matching armchair casually, his legs thrown over one arm. Zevran gazed back at the dwarf serenely with one raised eyebrow as if to say _We shall see, won't we?_

"That leaves our only real choice. There are other taverns in the city, but the Gnawed Noble is used to better clientele and has plenty of space. For security reasons, we'll be renting the whole place. The drinks are reasonably good there, but I see no reason why **someone** couldn't do some sampling to make sure things are well taken care of in that regard." During that last, Teagan broke character with the war planner demeanor to smirk slightly at the obviously eager dwarf.

"Suggested entertainments?"

"First, I will insist that I be allowed to decide drinks – I suspect we do not want ales that could be use to clean armor, eh? Since you have decided that my suggestions earlier are too much for our young guest of honor, I assume there will at least be dancers? I am even willing to concede that they should be dancing girls!" Zevran volunteered. He added under his breath, "If I cannot persuade him, he is clearly not interested in such things."

Sten raised his voice from his position in the shadows, standing as straight-backed as always. "I am not certain that I understand this human custom. Alistair is a warrior. He will have no interest in… dancing girls. Bloodsport. Gladiatorial combat. An opportunity to demonstrate his skills in battle. This will show the Grey Warden that he is a man who may continue to keep her safe even as she ceases her unwomanly displays and hangs up her sword."

Oghren guffawed, reaching out a stubby leg to kick the elf's swinging foot. "Har, he thinks that Elissa is going to hang up her sword. Ya better not let her hear that, or she'll chop you down to my height." He thought a second. "Ale and whores, er, dancin' girls – cards. Hot game of diamondback, or whatever you play up here on the surface. Don't let 'im bet his pants, though, less you want the girl to really kill him."

A glint of mischief flashed in Zevran's eyes for an instant at that before he suppressed it.

The bann rubbed his forehead for a moment. "I'm not really sure that combat would be appropriate, Sten. Let's bring the rest of this together, shall we?"


	2. Chapter 2

"But why do I need to wear a blindfold?" Alistair wailed helplessly to, well, he wasn't sure to whom he was speaking; Zevran had come around behind him with the piece of silk, while Oghren was in front of him, but he had clearly heard others around after that.

The silken voice of the Antivan whispered right in his ear, making him jump. "My friend, this is your final night of freedom, is it not? We are simply… helping you to be free, no?" The hairs began to rise on the young king's neck. His idea of freedom was more "kill the oppressive noble" while the elf's ideas were more "take off all your clothes". Speaking of which – he slapped at the hands that began plucking at his clothing.

"Stop that! What are you doing?" he asked in a voice growing increasingly shrill. A feminine giggle was his only answer and it was all he could do to keep from wrenching the blindfold from his face. He was somewhat familiar with this tradition, after all, and he didn't want to be a spoilsport, but it was very difficult. "Zevran! I'm not letting some strange woman take off my clothes!"

That voice, now in his other ear, accompanied a trailing hand across his back. Damn the elf. "We simply have a change of attire for you, and I thought you would appreciate some assistance with things. We would never want you to do, "and the voice dropped to a very faint, seductive whisper, "anything you didn't want to…"

That, of course, was when the hands pulled his shirt off. At least it was just the shirt. No, no that was the trousers, and the boots with them, of course. He was about to start slapping hands again when some kind of robe was pulled over his head instead. Ah yes, dress the former Templar up as a mage, no doubt. He sighed.

Wasn't the point of something like this that the groom should be having fun?

The door opened, followed by a more familiar giggle, thank the Maker. "Oh, you went with the blue brocade, very pretty, " Leliana commented from that direction.

"Hey, girly, no, um, girls allowed tonight, and you know it!" protested Oghren. Opening his mouth for the first time had also put a certain aroma in the air. Clearly he was starting early.

"Oh, I wouldn't think of ruining your fun, but Elissa wanted me to make sure that he, "and he felt a hand on his chest. Why did everyone think it was fine to touch the blindfolded man? "That he isn't getting in any trouble. So I brought someone who always has her interests at heart to keep him company." A piece of leather was thrust into his hand. Eh? He pulled his hand back as he felt a slimy tongue touch it.

"That's it! I draw the line at being licked!" He immediately flushed red at the canine whine that answered his protest. He barely heard it above everyone laughing at him.

"This is going to be a very long evening, "he muttered.


	3. Chapter 3

Even the walk was turning out to be long, really. First, there was learning to pick up the skirt of his robes; he almost broke his nose on the pavement before he got the hang of that. Fortunately, a strong hand grabbed his shoulder from behind.

"I do not understand this custom, but it is unseemly for a warrior to sprawl in the street," Sten's low voice rumbled behind him. Well, of all the unlikely people to watch his back.

His progress was accompanied by frequent catcalls from both male and female bystanders, which he didn't quite understand. Well, clearly they didn't recognize their king out of shiny armor and blindfolded. A soft hand led him along – a female hand? An elf hand? At least he was being led by the hand and not some other body part.


	4. Chapter 4

A blast of raucous noise and the faint smell of alcohol told him they had arrived where they were going, and he could get this Maker cursed blindfold off. He'd swear he almost dislocated his shoulder as he was pulled around a corner while he tried to walk straight.

Entering the tavern (obvious) to raucous cheers, his first thought was – who _were_ all these people? He supposed they could have found some of the men he knew in the Templars, but it was only one monastery – how many could there be?

That question would have to wait, because another mystery was revealed as Zevran sidled up far to closely behind him to undo the blindfold. Of course, how could he be so stupid. It wasn't mage robes. They had put him in a dress. Ah well, maybe he could get the musicians to play the Remigold?


	5. Chapter 5

The evening was actually... not wretched. Increasingly not wretched the more he had to drink, he suspected. Pleasantly warm inside, he was sitting at a table with Oghren, who was dealing, Teagan, Ser Donall and a young soldier he had briefly spoken with and fought beside here at Denerim. He tried desperately not to sound awkward, because for the life of him he couldn't remember the lad's name. (Lad? Oh, yes, and you're so old, Alistair.)

"So ya see, my hand wins, because the Knight of Flames is wild this hand, and The Tower doesn't count for anything because the Moon is in play. So, that gives me full colors, ya see?" Alistair suspected the dwarf was cheating, but he supposed if he could keep track of things when he'd had fully double the alcohol that any of the rest of them had consumed, he deserved to win something. Surely, they would also be losers in the morning light.

"So, Donall, I'm so pleased to see you again! I feared that when Lothering fell, you were lost!" He might as well talk about something; he wasn't going to learn anything listening to Oghren explain his hand. The rules just seemed to keep changing...

"Really? From Redcliffe? We really must talk, my dear, "Teagan was only sounding slightly slurred as he spoke to the woman serving the ale, a slight blond-ish woman. He definitely sounded... sleazier? He supposed he'd better keep an eye on the bann...


	6. Chapter 6

He really supposed he should get up, but he couldn't seem to make his legs work. Probably trip over that stupid dress if he got up now, anyway. Pretty girls dancing. But yes, this is nice, not thinking too much, and look at the pretty colors on the pretty girls, all spinny and flowing and, ooo.

Alistair looked at the world through a sparkly pink haze... literally, as he looked at the somewhat more scantily clad dancing girl who had thrown one of her veils over him. She smiled fetchingly at him, only to be rewarded with a drunken grin as he pawed at the scarf and then fluttered it in front of him. "Like a butterfly, hee." The woman began to approach, shimmying all the while but backed off as the mabari lying on the floor began to rumble slightly.

In the corner, Teagan had progressed to the serving woman sitting on his knee as they spoke intently.

In the corner, Zevran elbowed Oghren sharply, gesturing towards the distracted bann, a sly grin on his features. The dwarf chortled and swayed to his feet. "I need a nice, fresh, full mug o' ale, "he informed the barkeep.


	7. Chapter 7

Of all the..! He had been terribly engrossed with the sparkling pink, er, pink gauzy thing when that drunken dwarf had spilled a full tankard all over him. Wearing a dress was bad enough, but an ale-sodden one was definitely out of the question. Alistair jumped up and began to disentangle himself from the dress. How did women handle this – or was that why they all seemed to have maids to help them?

Suddenly, there was a hand at his elbow. "No, my friend, not out here – think of Elissa's reaction for you to be parading in your small clothes in front of half of the nobles in Denerim, eh? Come, let me take you to a private room and I will find you some pants, won't that be better?" Zevran smoothly suggested, already steering him away from his comfy seat at the front of the room.

Here he though that the Antivan didn't like him. Better man than he thought, obviously. Maybe he would find a position for him in the new reign. He held the dress, peeled to his waist, about himself and stumbled along, propelled by the grinning Zevran.

The dog looked about and whined. Something smelled funny. Besides the ale and the perfume.


	8. Chapter 8

"Don't worry, m'lord, I can help you with that," a sultry voice offered. He jumped, tried to spin around, reached for the sword that was in a rack at the palace and promptly fell over his skirts onto the bed. His eyes focused on the woman with the very painted face and the very tightly laced bodice. Not good.

There was a clunk as something was placed against the door. Like a chair bracing it shut.

"Er, no, really, that's quite all right, I can handle it fine myself, really, take off women's clothing all the time, well, not all the time, but often enough, though not off myself I suppose and..." He scrambled desperately back, legs tangled on the fine, embroidered blanket... promptly exposing the beautiful, expensive and above all, slick, satin sheets.

And arms windmilling, slid off the bed, briefly hitting his head on the edge of the frame, coming to land sprawled on the floor at the astonished prostitute's feet. His poor, abused dress had done little to cushion the blow, even if the skirts had been pulled over his head by his slide to the floor.

A spate of barking combined with the party noises and, oddly, riotous cursing in Antivan, echoed outside of the room's door.


	9. Chapter 9

"Who's a good doggy? Yes, yes, you're a good doggy!" cooed a feminine voice in that only-used-on-animals-and-babies tone.

Alistair winced and opened his eyes, squinted at the firelight and closed them again. _Cold stone floor. Weight on chest. Wait, no shirt. No shirt? No pants! Cold stone on back, scratchy, hairy weight... Peek – dog paw. Ew, drool dripped. Definitely dog._

_Oh Maker's Breath – the tavern, the party, drinking..._

His eyes flew open.

Elissa Cousland crouched by his head, one hand still petting her prized Mabari hound. The hound lay next to Alistair, king of Ferelden, one paw laid possessively on his bare chest. The gnawed looking remains of a blue and gold dress barely hid the muscular warrior's small clothes.

She raised an eyebrow with a faint smile. "As a warrior, I've learned an important thing, my dear. Always send along a backup."


End file.
